


Not A Viceroy, But A Monarch

by KaterinaRiley



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Allison is dead but has an impact in this, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stydia, not much supernatural in this, pre-Stydia, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaterinaRiley/pseuds/KaterinaRiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia has a new boyfriend. They’ve been together for a while, it’s just nobody really noticed. At first she was grateful. She didn’t want Sti—um, everybody to know; she wanted it to be a secret. She wanted something to herself, something normal and ordinary and human. She wanted to get away from everybody, to forget, just for a little while. Forget how she finds crime scenes, how she hears whisperers. She wants to forget everything she sees, at least for one night a week. </p><p>But now, Lydia just wishes someone would notice that she has a new boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Viceroy, But A Monarch

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this thing yesterday (7/12/14) on Tumblr, saying how Holland Roden believed that “Lydia doesn’t deserve Stiles” and people started complaining about the “nice boys” and “Holland doesn’t understand” and such. I’m not saying I agree or disagree; I’m just saying that this little bugger popped into my head and wouldn’t let go. I hope you all enjoy :)
> 
> (I’m sorry if Lydia is too OOC – this is my first Teen Wolf fic.)
> 
> On FanFiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10532986/1/Not-A-Viceroy-But-A-Monarch

* * *

**_Not A Viceroy, But A Monarch_ **

* * *

 

Lydia has a new boyfriend. They’ve been together for a while, it’s just nobody really noticed. At first she was grateful. She didn’t want Sti—um, everybody to know; she wanted it to be a secret. She wanted something to herself, something normal and ordinary and _human_. She wanted to get away from everybody, to forget, just for a little while. Forget how she finds crime scenes, how she hears whisperers. She wants to forget everything she sees, at least for one night a week.

But now, Lydia just wishes someone would notice that she has a new boyfriend.

x~X~x

It started a few weeks after Allison’s death. She’d been walking home, desperately trying to bury everything: Stiles’ face as the nogitsune took him over, Allison’s death, Stiles cornering her, Isaac after he realized Allison just died, Stiles taunting her, Scott holding Allison in her arms, Malia coming to school, Stiles–

“Hey! Leave her alone!”

At the sound of a forend being cocked, Lydia whorled around. She watched as two men ran away from her, cursing as they turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

“Hey miss, are you okay?”

It came from the left of her. Lydia looked over and saw another man, a younger one, holding a shotgun. He was standing in front of a bar. It all clicked in an instant.

“I’m fine,” she said curtly. “But I didn’t need your help.”

The man looked stunned at first, but then he broke out into a wide grin. “Looked to me like you did. You didn’t even notice the men until I shouted at them.”

Not really wanting to continue talking to a stranger in almost the dead of night –and she really does have to stop these midnight walks; it’s not that her mom worries, she doesn’t even know, but Lydia always seems to stumble upon something unpleasant whenever she stops thinking about where she’s going– Lydia bid the man a terse, “Good night,” and turned on her heel.

Only the man followed her.

“Look miss, I just don’t think it’s right for a lady to be walking home alone.” He smelled like the bar; faint traces of vomit and alcoholism, but there was another scent that overtook it. Lydia was startled to find it was cologne. Those damn werewolves never wore cologne; she’d forgotten how much she loved the smell of it on a man.

“Are you saying I can’t take care of myself?” she asked, refusing to look the man in the eye.

“Of course not, I’m sure you can beat anyone’s ass; I just really want to walk you home and, you know, make sure your safe.”

Without realizing, Lydia turned to see the man. She was met with dark brown eyes. Not hazel, dark brown. His shirt was a plain, white V-neck; no plaid over-shirt in sight. His hair was a dark blonde that reminded Lydia of honey. It fell in waves; it wasn’t brown/black and spiked up.

“Are you okay?” the man asked again.

Gritting her teeth, Lydia said, “Stop asking me that.” Once again she turned on her heel and began walking away.

Once again the man followed her.

“You looked like you were expecting me to be someone else.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“I’m not and you were.”

“I was  _not_ .”

Eventually, Lydia had found herself at her front door, still bickering with the man, but, somewhere along the way, it had turned softer, friendlier.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, unsure what to do now. She couldn’t invite him in, he was a Complete Stranger, and in Beacon Hills, that was a really dangerous title to have. Also, it was near two in the morning.

The man smiled. “It’s no problem. My name’s Victor, by the way. Victor Noules.”

“Lydia.”

“I’ll see you around, Lydia,” and this time, he was the one to turn around and walk away.

As Lydia slowly crept into her room she realized she hadn’t thought of Stiles or Allison or the nogitsune all night. She smiled.

x~X~x

Over the next few weeks, Victor kept coming around. It wasn’t every single day, and nothing happened – well, nothing happened that pre-banshee Lydia would do. It was…really nice, actually.

The first time she saw him again, it was the next morning; he’d come to her house and brought popcorn and a movie. Despite her parents not being home, Lydia invited him in. It was a Saturday. They’d settled on the couch, leaning in closely. The minute Lydia realized it was  _The Notebook_ , she immediately got up and took it out.

“What’s wrong?” Victor asked, confused. “Don’t all girls like this movie?”

Lydia wanted to laugh. She  _did_ like the movie, but, firstly, if this was a date, then no crying films are allowed. Not until the sixth date. And secondly, it was something she and Allison both loved to watch whenever they didn’t want to do homework or be with the boys – it was something that reminded them that there was still good things in the world, like Ryan Gosling. Lydia refused to watch anything that reminded her of her friends.  _All_ of her friends. This is just between her and Victor.

“Have you ever even watched  _The Notebook_ ?” she asked, rummaging through her DVDs.

Victor snorted. “Only about two billion times.” When Lydia looked at him, he quickly explained, “My sister loves the movie. I’m forced to watch it whenever I visit home.”

“Forced,” Lydia repeated. “So you don’t like it, then.”

“Well…” Victor started, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Laughing, Lydia said, “It’s okay,” and brought out a different movie. “How about this instead?”

“ _The Blair Witch Project_ ?” Victor read. “Really? You’re into this?”

Lydia shrugged, allowing a sly smile to tug her lips. “Rule number one: always watch a horror movie on the first date. I cannot date boys who are wimps, rule number two.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, smirking. “First date?”

“That is the reason you came over, isn’t it?”

Rather than answer, Victor simply strode up to her, not hesitating the slightest when he kissed her. Lydia gasped in surprise, but immediately reciprocated. It was just the way she used to like it: powerful, intense, intoxicating. His hands grabbed at her, she grabbed at him. It was becoming really passionate, really quickly.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly.

Victor pulled back instantly. “What is it? Too fast?”

“Yeah,” Lydia admitted. It just felt… _wrong_ to jump into bed with the closest available guy. Allison never really approved of that. “And also,” hesitating because she would’ve never said this before, Lydia explained, “I’m a minor. Seventeen.”

“Oh.” Victor started to pull away, but Lydia found herself clutching onto him.

“My birthday’s in a few months,” she said, suddenly desperate to keep Victor. No, suddenly desperate to keep this sense of normality.

For a few seconds, Victor was silent.

“If you’re anything like I think you are,” he finally said, “Then I think I can wait.”

“What do you think I am?”

He grinned. “Everything.”

x~X~x

After that night, there were picnics, more movies, dinners, amusement parks. Lydia felt free. Whenever she was with Victor, she didn’t have to worry about the murders or the werewolves or the whispering voices. They didn’t exist.

It all came crashing down one night.

“Victor, I’m sorry, but I’m with my friends, I  _can’t_ come over,” Lydia hissed, hoping neither Scott nor Derek could hear her with their wolf super-hearing.

“But the game’s about to start,” he sounded hurt. “You said you’d come see me play.” It was a soccer game between his bar and a rival’s; they did it every year.

“I know, I know, and I really wanted to come,” she did, she really did, “But something came up. It’s a school thing.”

No, it was a murder/werewolf thing. But Lydia couldn’t say that.

“You’re super smart, can’t you bail out just this once?” Somehow, Victor managed to whine without sounding like a bratty, spoiled kid.

Lydia was just about to repeat her previous answer, when someone walked up behind her.

“Lydia, who are you talking to?”

It was Stiles.

“…Who is that?” Victor asked, his voice becoming hard. It was something Lydia liked about him; he was very possessive of her, hating when another guy would hit on her. However, now is not the right time.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lydia said in the phone. “I’ll see you later.” She ended the call and put her phone in her pocket.

“Lydia,” Stiles hissed. “We’re in the middle of finding Kate, and you were on your  _phone_ ?”

“Just talking to my mom,” Lydia lied. “Geez, loosen up.”

Stiles looked as though there was a lot more he wanted to say, but something caught his eye and he ended up running passed Lydia shouting, “Wait, Malia! Don’t touch anything! Malia!”

Lydia sighed.

When she arrived at Victor’s apartment, he was clearly livid.

“Are you cheating on my?” he asked bluntly.

“Don’t be stupid.” It came out harsher than intended. Lydia just wasn’t in the mood for these questions, especially after Kate slipped from their fingers again, this time injuring Kira.  _And all because Malia couldn’t keep her filthy coyote paws off anything,_ she thought venomously. 

“Oh, so I’m too dumb for you now, is it? You can’t be with anyone who dropped out of college because they aren’t smart enough for you?”

“…What?” Lydia had never insinuated anything like that, ever. Yeah, she knew he dropped out two years ago, at age nineteen, but she never cared. In fact, she  _liked_ that he had made his life something, owning a really popular bar, without any kind of degree. Truthfully, Lydia was angry he’d even assumed her so callous.

Victor stalked up to her, his eyes hard. “Is that kid smart? The one on the phone?”

Ignoring the irony that it was  _Stiles_ , the boy who used to have the biggest crush on her,whom Victor was insinuating Lydia was cheating on, Lydia waved her hand dismissively. “It doesn't matter,” she insisted. “I’m with  _you_ and I  _never_ cheat on whomever I’m with.”

“Even if they’re too dumb to realize it?”

That pushed Lydia over the edge. Ever since she stopped pretending to be the _‘dumb popular girl’_ , Lydia had felt both remorse and anger for anyone who put their smarts down; everyone is  _always_ smarter than they choose to believe.

“Maybe only if they believe they’re too dumb for me!” she’s retaliated, reveling in the shock on Victor’s face.

It really didn’t help things. The shouting continued getting louder and louder. They stood nose-to-nose, yelling and screaming in each other’s faces. It ended when Victor took his hand and slapped it across Lydia’s face, shouting “Bitch!” at her.

Everything went silent.

With a hand on her stinging cheek, Lydia turned and left. She was furious, anger flowed through her veins.

She was also hurt, and holding back tears.

The next day, Victor appeared at her doorstep, holding a gift card and a movie. It was the  _Blair Witch Project_ . Lydia would’ve slammed the door in his face except for…well, his face. He looked so devastated; his eyes were red, like he’d been crying.

“Never touch me like that again,” was all she’d said before taking the gift card and going to his car. They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon shopping. Then, they went to Lydia’s to watch the movie. He kissed her chastely on the lips and went home. All was well again.

Until it wasn’t.

x~X~x

Lydia and Victor don’t fight often. They’ll bicker, tease, and make out, but their only real fight was the one two weeks ago. It was their first fight. Lydia should’ve realized it wouldn’t be their last.

“How come I never see your friends?” Victor asked. “You see mine.”

She knew this was coming, she’d seen it coming for weeks, but that didn’t make explaining it any simpler. “Because I’m selfish. I want you all to myself.”

He’d smiled at that and, to Lydia’s relief, didn’t bring it up again. (She was honestly surprised he dropped it so quickly.) Then everything was ruined a few nights later when he’d swung by her house only to find her and Peter arguing.

“She’s my  _daughter_ ! I think I have the right to tell her that!”

“But you’re also a psychotic werewolf who went on a nice killing spree, remember?”

“What’s going on?” Victor asked. He was standing by the door, looking part extremely confused and part extremely angry. “Who are you?”

Lydia and Peter both jumped at his voice, they’d been so focused, neither of them heard the door opening.

“Who are  _you_ ?” Peter asked, his hands flexing.

“I’m Lydia’s  _boyfriend_ ,” Victor emphasized. “And you’re not welcome here.”

Snorting, Peter said, “Well I already knew that.”

Suddenly, Victor was right up in Peter’s face. Lydia held her breath, praying Peter doesn’t do anything stupid, like tear Victor’s jugular out.

“Then if you know you’re not welcome, you should leave. It’s rude to stay where you’re not wanted.”

“Be careful who you’re talking with,” Peter growled. “I might bite.”

Victor bristled. “Leave. Now.”

Peter stood his ground for five whole seconds before saying, “This isn’t over, Lydia,” and walking out the door.

Victor’s never left him. As soon as he left, Victor asked, “Was that one of your friends?”

“No, not really,” Lydia said truthfully.

“You can’t see him again.”

She sighed. “It’s not that easy.” Lydia tried to explain the whole Peter-is-Derek’s-uncle-and-Malia’s-father-and-the-werewolf-we-turn-to-when-we-need-help without actually  _saying_ it. “See, he’s–”

Victor interrupted. “I don’t care. He’s bad news, Lydia, I can tell. He’s the type that will take hold of you and never let go.” He paused. “Are all your friends like that?”

“No. And I said Peter wasn’t my friend.”

“I don’t want you to see them either.”

Lydia as silent just long enough for the words the sink in. “Excuse me?”

Victor looked at her, protectiveness in his eyes. “You said you wanted to keep me to yourself, that’s why you didn’t want you friends to know, but that isn’t true.”

“Yes it is,” Lydia said, bewilderment and obviousness coloring her tone. 

“No, it isn’t. They’re like the monarch butterfly, pretty and enticing, but they’re bitter inside.”

“What are you talking about?”

Slowly, Victor took her hand, holding it tightly. “Lydia, you’re afraid of them, aren’t you?”

No, she’s afraid  _for_ them. They put themselves in danger at nearly every hour. At least Scott, Derek, Kira, and Malia have a way of protecting themselves; all Stiles has is a bat, and he  _really_ needs a better one. Being scared  _of_ someone and  _for_ someone are entirely different feelings.  

“I can protect you from them, they won’t hurt you again.”

She wants to say, “They don’t hurt me, friends don’t hurt each other, especially after what we’ve been through,” but Victor looks so pleading, so fiercely determined that she says, “I won’t see them again.”

Victor smiled. He kissed her, but it was far too chaste for Lydia’s liking, especially after what just happened, so she takes control, and soon, both are striving for dominance. Lydia ends up lying on the couch, Victor on top, rubbing against the other like the world as going to end. She stops it just before it can get too serious.

For a moment, something flashes in Victor’s eyes, but she didn’t know what it was and it disappeared almost instantly, so Lydia dismissed it.

“Promise me you won’t see them,” Victor whispers, spooning Lydia from behind as they watch  _The Blair Witch Project_ .

“I promise.”

It was broken the next day; after all, Lydia  _does_ go to school with all of them. They still never noticed.

x~X~x

“I hate English projects,” Stiles complained, flopping himself onto Lydia’s couch.

“You just hate homework in general,” Lydia corrected. She glanced around the room for what must’ve been the tenth time. Victor was nowhere to be seen, but she couldn’t help feeling that he was about to jump out of the shadows. She promised him she wouldn’t see her friends, even though it was a really stupid promise, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. If he comes and sees Stiles, or worse, recognizes his voice, then he’d be devastated.

“Hey Lyds? You awake in there?”

Lydia blinked and suddenly Stiles was in front of her, looking concerned. She jumped back in surprise.

“God! Stiles, don’t scare me like that?” She started walking into the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

Footsteps followed hers a few seconds later. “Yeah. Sure.”

Lydia poured them both some orange juice. Still feeling as though Victor’s eyes were watching them, she discreetly added a little bit of vodka to hers when she put the carton away. “So what should we do our project on?” she asked when she turned around.

Stiles was still eyeing her suspiciously, but he said, “I liked  _Oedipus Rex_ and  _The Catcher in the Rye_ , so either one of those.”

Nodding, Lydia poured herself another cup of orange juice, feeling calmer already. She still added in some vodka.

“Both were good, but I think we could do more on  _Oedipus Rex_ then  _Catcher in the Rye_ .”

Stiles phone dinged, and when he read the text, he laughed. “Malia really hates working with Greenburg. She says he smells like old socks and meatloaf.”

Lydia cracked a smile at that. She was beginning to like Malia. Her perpetually confused state, which annoyed Lydia at first, was slightly endearing. Except when she’d get all  _‘I’m a were-coyote; fight, fight, fight; I don’t care that I’m being insensitive, I’m going to do it anyway; Stiles, Sties, Stiles.’_ That part of Malia was still as annoying as hell.

Soon enough, she and Stiles were comfortably lounging on her couch, both typing furiously away; Lydia on the project, and Stiles on any information about Kate and what she might be ding. Lydia didn’t mind, Stiles had actually stayed focused long enough to help with the presentation part of it; besides, Lydia was a much better writer than Stiles.

When her mom came home, she insisted on having Stiles stay for dinner. He accepted, partly because Lydia’s mom slightly terrifies him and partly because she cooks really, really well (when she’s actually at home). It felt nice, having him there. It felt like before, when Allison was still alive and Stiles was the goofy, nerdy kid who adored her…except Stiles was now much more mature, in both looks and character.

(She remembered when he came to her, the day after Allison’s funeral, holding in tears and fidgeting more than usual, asking for her forgiveness even though “I know I don’t deserve it.” She remembered how she pulled him in a hug, how he completely broke down, how she had started crying until they both were sitting on the floor, the front door still wide open. Once their tears had dried, they sat on the couch, talking quietly, forgiving and healing, until Lydia’s mom had come home and, just like now, insisted on Stiles staying for dinner. They never talked about that day again, though Lydia wonders is Stiles thinks about it as often as she does.)

After Stiles had left, giving both Lydia and her mom a hug goodbye, Lydia went up to her room, feeling content and happy.

She froze at the door.

Victor was there.

Her happiness started draining; she didn’t want Victor to feel betrayed, but she knew that was exactly how he was feeling.  

“You promised me you wouldn’t see them,” he said. His voice was hollow.

“Victor…” Lydia started slowly. She had to make him see reason; it wasn’t logical for her not to see her friends, they were her friends, and they  _weren’t_ like Peter.

“You promised me!” he shouted, pounding his fists on her desk.

Shutting the door, Lydia hissed, “Victor, my mother is home. You need to calm yourself.”

He stepped forward. “I need to calm myself?” He took another step forward; Lydia stepped back. “I’m not the one who broke my promise, Lydia.” He took another step forward; she tried to take another step back, but she had closed her door. “ _You’re_ the one who  _broke your promise_ !” He crowded her, pinning her between the door and himself.

“I think you should get out,” Lydia said, her voice much firmer than she felt.

Victor growled. For a terrifying moment, Lydia was sure he was about to turn, about to kill her. He didn’t. He turned around and climbed out of the window, but before he jumped down, he said, “You’re mine, Lydia. Don’t forget that.”

Lydia couldn’t sleep that night. She kept wondering what had happened, what had changed.

_I broke my promise_ , she thought.

_But it’s a stupid promise. I can have my own friends, I can see whoever I want to._

_I broke my promise._

Lydia hugged her bear, the one Stiles got her when he showed up with a huge box for her birthday two years ago. Allison had name him Cocoa, for his dark chocolate color, and had added a white and black polka-dotted bowtie to his neck. Lydia hugged her bear and didn’t cry. She didn’t cry.

The next day, Victor showed up, holding a  _Blair Witch_ DVD and movie tickets. Lydia went with him. He told her he signed up for anger management; his eyes were large as he stared at Lydia, waiting for her to say something. Lydia just managed a short nod and a smile. She couldn’t break up with him now, he was trying so hard. After his admission, he acted like last night never happened, so Lydia did as well.

Or, she tried too. It’s like telling someone not the think of the bright pink, gigantic vulture in the room; it’s all they think about. No one else seemed to notice Lydia’s conflict; not Victor, not his friends, and not even Kira, who was texting her periodically (though Victor thought it was her mother, who was asking her about getting groceries and doing chores).

After spending time with his friends, they went back to his apartment. They started watching a movie, but Lydia felt uncomfortable, the atmosphere was so different she could practically taste it. Unsure of what else to do, she climbed into his lap. She became  _‘dumb popular girl’_ again. In the morning, she woke up, go dressed, and went to school, stopping by her house for her books.

Yet Lydia still felt like something was wrong, something was hollow. She just couldn’t understand what it was, and why.

x~X~x

“Hey Lydia, so I was thinking, and… Lydia?”

"What?” Lydia look up from her drawing –it was a butterfly– and realized Stiles was staring at her. She resisted the urge to flinch. He was far too close

Frowning, Stiles asked, “Are you okay?”

"I’m fine; why wouldn’t I be?” she tried to say it as natural as possible.

“You just seem…never mind. So, can I come over tonight?”

Lydia froze. “No,” she said immediately. _Victor would be angry, Victor would be angry, Victor would be angry._  

Stiles looked taken aback by her tone. “Well, uh, we have to finish the English project eventually. It’s due next week.”

The English Project. Lydia had completely forgot. “Oh. Right. Why don’t I go to your house? Say, at four?”

“Sounds good,” Stiles said, though he didn’t sound sure. “Where were you yesterday; it’s not like you to skip class.”

Thankfully, the teacher walked in just then. After class, Lydia gathered her stuff and practically raced out the door.

x~X~x

Victor was waiting for her at her house.

"Hey there,” he said, smiling. As she walked up the stairs, he stood up and kissed her chastely. “So I was thinking about going to see the fireworks tonight.”

Lydia tilted her head. “Fireworks? What fireworks?” She put her key in the lock and twisted. “I didn’t know there’d be fireworks anywhere tonight.”

Victor grinned, like he was hiding some secrete. “Who said anything about it being a public event?”

Placing her backpack down, she said, “Oh.”

“Yeah, I was thinking we could leave now, see a movie, have a picnic, then light up the sky.”

Opening the fridge, Lydia poured herself some orange juice. She didn’t know how to act around Victor anymore; she was so worried (not afraid because that’d be stupid, just worried) she’d say something that would imply she was still seeing her friends. Like now.

“Oh, Victor, I wish I could,” she said honestly. She watched as Victor’s smile slipped off. “But my English project is due tomorrow and–”

“Is it still that boy? Your partner still that ex-friend of yours?”

Swallowing the last drop carefully, Lydia said, nonchalantly, “Who? Jordan?” it was a safe, unisex name, “Yeah, I’m not with the other one. I asked for a switch.”

“Well, that’s good.” Victor still looked hesitant. “You say it’s due tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Lydia nodded.

Sighing, Victor said, “Then I suppose my surprise date will be rain-checked for tomorrow.” For a second, Lydia was worried at how he’d react, but then he smiled at her. “I keep forgetting you’re a technical high schooler. You’re my smart, beautiful Lydia.” He hugged her, rubbing her back affectionately, but when he pulled back, his arms still wrapped around her, his eyes were cold. “Make sure your afternoon is completely free tomorrow.”

“I will,” Lydia promised.

x~X~x 

“Ugh, my eyes hurt,” Stiles complained. “Can we take a break now?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, we have to finish this  _tonight_ .” She was scribbling furiously, drawing a particular scene from  _Oedipus Rex_ .

“But Lydia, we have until next week. We don’t have to do everything tonight.” Stiles looked over from where he was sprawled dramatically on the floor, but Lydia wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention. “Lydia?” he asked.

When he got up and walked over to her, Stiles realized that what Lydia was drawing was definitely not  _Oedipus Rex_ . He snatched the paper from her.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Stiles, we need to finish–”

“Yeah,  _tonight_ , I know. But it’s really difficult to finish tonight when you’re just drawing butterflies.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “What?” She snatched the paper back and stared at it in awed disbelief. All that time, all that work,  _wasted_ .

“If it’s any consolation, your butterflies are beautiful,” Stiles said. “If not a bit gory. Why are you drawing cannibalistic monarchs?”

Throat dry, Lydia said, “I didn’t mean to.”

At that, Stiles looked up. The last time Lydia had one something like this, it had been the upside-down tree.

“Lydia, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wr–”

“Don’t you dare finis that sentence. Something is clearly wrong. What is it? Tell me.” Stiles was now sitting beside her on his bed, their shoulders were touching. Lydia moved away – Victor was always jealous when another guy was hitting on her or talking to her or sitting too close to her.

“I just want to finish this by tonight.”

Thankfully, Stiles stayed where he was. “We have until next week, Lydia,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child. “We shouldn’t overwork ourselves now when there’s still tomorrow and Saturday. We have until Wednesday.”

But Lydia had been shaking her head since Stiles said  _‘tomorrow’_ . “No. It must be done tonight.  I can’t do it tomorrow.” She didn’t realize her hands had been shaking, clutching the paper, until Stiles’ hands covered hers.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do it tomorrow.”

“It needs to be done tonight,” she repeated.

“Okay,” Stiles said, and Lydia could’ve sighed in relief. “What going on tomorrow?”

Quickly, Lydia jerked her hands out of Stiles’. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing important. I’m hungry, do you have leftovers?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just walked out the room. Stiles was tempted to follow her –he was hungry too; they’d been at this since four and it was eight right now (lord, he  _hated_ essays)– but he didn’t.

Bending down, he picked up the crumbled paper that Lydia left. It was a monarch butterfly devouring another one, flowers scattered in the background. Something about it bothered him. This was Lydia, after all. She was a banshee, ad when things like this happened, not-good things tended to followed. He was going to do research on it later. He wasn’t sure what he’d find searching for ‘monarch butterflies’, but it can’t hurt.

“Your father’s downstairs,” Lydia said from the doorway. “He wants you to come down to dinner.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” He scrambled after her, promising himself to look it up tonight.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. He and Lydia actually did finish the project, much to his father’s displeasure. The ten-page essay, thirty-slide powerpoint, and visual aid, which were two pictures, were finished. And it only took them, oh, five more hours. Lydia had stayed the night, considering it was nearing three a.m. and the Sherriff, refused to let her drive home in her exhausted state. She crashed out on the couch and was asleep in seconds. Stiles would fallen onto a heap right on the floor if his father hadn’t directed him back up to his bedroom.

The drawing could wait until tomorrow.

But tomorrow came and went, the drawing laying in Stiles’ room, completely forgotten when Kate attacked Derek that night, kidnapping him again.

Kidnapping him to Australia this time, as Stiles and Lydia discovered a week later.

“Dad!” he shouted the moment he got home. “I’m going on another camping trip!”

x~X~x

Lydia had no idea what she was going to tell Victor. If she said vacation, he’d want to come; if she said school trip, he’d ask around and realize it was a lie. She couldn’t say “night out with friends” because he still thinks she broke it off with them weeks ago. (God, has it only ben three months since they first met? It seems much longer.)

In the end, she decided not to say anything. So far, she still managed to keep her secret a secret, which was the whole point of dating Victor, so why even bring up anything related to it?

That turned out to be a bad idea.

After returning to Beacon Hills, Derek still his adult, grumpy self, but now with his blue eyes back, Lydia came home to find Victor standing in the middle of her room.

“Where were you?” his voice was calm. Lydia hated when his voice was calm.

"Out,” she replied.

“For five whole days?”

Lydia swallowed nervously. “Yeah.”

Victor still hadn’t moved. “Out where?”

“Just out. You know, we should keep  _some_ things from each other, so the mysterious allurement is still there.”

All Victor said was, “Out where?”

Bristling, Lydia said, “It’s none of your business! You don’t have to know every excruciating detail of my life!”

“Yes I do!” Victor bellowed.

Lydia took a step back. She made him angry. Shit, shit, shit,  _shit_ ! “Victor, I–”

“You belong to me! Remember!” he yelled, his wrapping around Lydia’s arms, squeezing.

They had just gotten back home, just killed Kate, they were going to celebrate tomorrow for their victory, and Lydia was terrified she would be dead before the sun rose.

“I am not a thing to be belonged to,” she said, her voice wavering. When had it gotten this bad? When had she gotten this scared?

Victor threw her on her bed.

“Yes you are,” he growled. Then he jumped her, ripping at her clothes, bruising her flesh. “You’re mine, Lydia,” he said, pinning her arms to the bed. “No one else can have you.” He covered her mouth with his hand. “Or I’ll kill them.” He pressed into her. She screamed.

x~X~x

The party was amazing. Peter had grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, Kira had made some sort of exotic Japanese desert, and the lake was sparkling as the sun glittered off it. Everyone was laughing and talking, swimming and playing volleyball. Even Melissa and the Sherriff had joined them in celebration. The atmosphere was one of joy and peace.  

Lydia was absolutely miserable.

“Shouldn’t you be…happier?” Malia asked. When Lydia didn’t say anything, Malia just sighed and went to play volleyball.

She  _should_ be happy, but that felt impossible. Her face felt caked in makeup, something she hadn’t done in forever, just to keep the shadows and bruises from showing. Her whole body was aching – she felt raw and abused. She  _was_ raw and abused. And terrified. Victor had only let her go because he had to go to work early because he was holding band auditions. So, technically, he didn’t know she was here.

Someone sat beside her. “Is everything okay?” Kira asked.

“I wish people would stop asking me that,” Lydia sighed.

“It’s because you look so miserable.” Kira paused. “Kate’s gone. I would’ve thought you’d be glad.”

“I am, I am.” Lydia trailed off. She didn’t know how to explain Victor; she spent so long on hiding him, she didn’t know how to reveal him.

"If you don’t want to talk to me, I can go get Stiles,” Kira suggested, causing Lydia’s head to shoot up.

"Why would you think I’d talk to Stiles?”

Blinking, Kira said, “Well, you guys seem close. You’ve known each other a long time, right?”

Stiles was playing volleyball; him and Malia against Isaac, who had come with Chris from France, and Scott. He was laughing as Scott dove for the ball, missing by mere inches. She wanted to tell him, tell anyone; she wanted to get away from Victor, but she just didn’t know how. She knew it wasn’t healthy, she knew she was hurting herself staying with him, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. It was stupid and foolish and Lydia hated herself for not being able to say anything.

When she realized Kira was waiting for her to say something, she said, “Get Peter for me.”

Despite being shocked and perplexed, and Lydia was too, Kira did exactly that. Then she went over to the volleyball court, cheering on Scott an Isaac, but not before shooting a concerned glance back at Lydia.

“I hear you want to talk to me,” Peter said. He was wearing a Kiss the Cook apron.

Lydia opened her mouth, but, suddenly not wanting to say the truth, she asked, “Where’s Derek?”

Peter quirked an eyebrow. “He’s tanning. Right there,” he pointed to Derek, who wasn’t ten feet away from Lydia, ear buds blasting music loud enough for her to hear it faintly.

“Oh.”

“Anything else?”

Lydia shook her head.

“Really?” Peter sat down. “Because you reek of terror and disgust.”

“Do you–” Lydia cleared her throat. “Do you remember…Victor?”

“The douchbag at your house? Yeah, why?”

Working up her courage, Lydia managed to form the word, “He,” before she was interrupted.

“Hey! Werewolf! You’re burning the hot dogs!” Chris shouted.

Peter cursed and scrambled towards the grill. “We’ll talk about this later, yeah?” He didn’t hear her response, but Lydia knew she wasn’t going to ask anyone about it again.

 

x~X~x

Stiles showed up in her doorway two days later. He pushed his way into the house. Lydia’s heart was beating so loudly, she was sure Stiles could hear despite not hang werewolf hearing.

Stiles was here.

Victor was waiting in the other room.

And Stiles was right here.

“You left the party early,” he said, accusingly.

Stiles,” she cracked out. He needed to leave. He needed to leave right now. Oh God, oh  _God_ .

Stiles continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “You missed out on a lot of celebration. It was awesome, like seriously, it was really awesome; Peter sure can  _cook_ ! …but something was missing.” He paused, looking at her dead in the eyes. Lydia still stood frozen, the door still wide open. Can Victor hear them? Will he come out? Can Stiles run away in time?

“It’s you, Lydia. People have noticed that something’s different. Kira, Scott, even Malia told me I should talk to you.” He looked at her, his face earnest and worried. “Lydia,  _talk to me_ . Is it about Allison? Or–”

“It’s not about Allison,” Lydia forced herself to say. It came out as a whisper.

“Then what?” he took her hands. “Lydia,  _please_ tell me.” He paused. “I looked up monarch butterflies.” He waited for her to say something, but when it was clear she wasn’t going (couldn’t) to speak, he continued. “Did you know that the viceroy butterfly is so similar to a monarch in appearance, that people get them confused, like, 89% of the time? The viceroy is sweet-tasting while the monarch is bitter and poisonous.” He lowered his voice. “Lydia, why did you draw a monarch eating a viceroy?”

Lydia shook her head, unable to speak. Tears slipped from her eyes. Stiles swiped at them with a thumb.

“What’s going on?” a cold voice said.

Behind Stiles stood Victor, looking positively livid.

“Just comforting a friend,” Stiles said, his voice holding a slight edge to it. He stood between Lydia and Victor, shielding Lydia. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lydia’s  _only_ friend,” Victor spat. “So you better scram, kid.”

Because she was behind Stiles, Lydia couldn’t see his face, but she could see his shoulders tensing.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Victor reached around the corner, grabbing at a walking stick that had been in the house since Lydia was a baby; it had been her father’s.

With cold, hating eyes, Victor said, “So be it.”

“No!” Lydia rushed in front of Stiles. “He’s leaving, okay? He’s leaving.” Lydia pushed forcefully a Stiles’ chest, and he stumbled backwards a bit, but ultimately refused to budge. He gently took hold of Lydia’s arms, removing them from his chest. (God, when had she gotten so weak?)

“I’m not leaving without you,” he said, looking at Lydia.

“Oh, yes you are,” Victor threatened. “Get out.”

Stiles’ arms went from Lydia’s arms to her waist, encircling her in a protective way that she hasn’t felt in a long time.

“You’re the one who needs to leave,” Stiles said.

Victor, screaming, charged at them, and Lydia closed her eyes, hiding her face in Stiles’ chest. She looked back again when Victor’s scream was abruptly cut off.

“I seriously hate you,” Peter said, looking down at Victor who was clutching his throat and coughing. Rolling his eyes, Peter picked Victor up and said, talking to Stiles, “I’ll take him to your dad, but not until I’ve finished with him.”

“Be my guest,” Stiles said, his voice hard.

When Peter and Victor were gone, Lydia somehow find her voice again. “Stiles, what–?”

“Peter also talked to me,” Stiles said. He looked down at her. “We kind of figured it out together. You okay now?”

Lydia thought about it. No, she wasn’t. She was still terrified, still hurting. But Victor wasn’t in the house. He was with Peter, going Stiles’ dad.

And Stiles’ was with her.

“A little,” she said truthfully.

Stiles grinned, his hand rubbing her back a few times.

“Well, what have you got here? I’m starving!”

Smiling, Lydia followed him into the kitchen. She was okay, not by a long shot, but with Stiles here, she felt like things could be okay again.

“Lydia, why is there vodka next to the orange juice?” Stiles asked, holding the bottle up to his face, staring at it like it had the answers to the last mat test they took.

It was so perfect, so normal, that Lydia couldn’t help but laugh. She saw Stiles glance over at her and smile, happy to make Lydia laugh. Lydia felt happy too.

Maybe she could still have ‘normal and human’ without searching for someone to supply it for her – it was all around her already, in Scott, Kira. In Stiles.  


End file.
